The Cynics
by Philaria
Summary: "There is no good. There is no evil. There is only power...and those too weak to seek it." Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger, the brightest witch and wizard of their generation, will build their empire. Merlin help any who stand in their way. AU
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Tom Felton is hot and I don't own Harry Potter.

**Hello and welcome to The Cynics! BEFORE YOU BEGIN, a few warnings:-**

**(1) This occurs in an AU where Tom Riddle is born during the Trio's time. As such, Voldemort doesn't exist (yet) and there are a lot of changes to the cast of characters, the timeline, etc. To state the obvious, this is definitely _not _canon-compliant in any way.**

**(2) In keeping with the first rule, OOCness will happen - because this world is so different, the people in it will also lead different lives and have different attitudes, beliefs, and personalities. I'm going to try and keep the essence of most characters generally the same, though, so long as it fits where this story is going.**

**(3) You can expect a gradual Dark!Hermione (and potentially Disturbing!Hermione) here. At the end of this, she isn't going to be the 'sweet-but-tough' warrior-maiden that I see in a lot of Hermione fics. Tom isn't going to turn into a fluffy bunny lover, either. They're out for power, and they're not going to be nice about it.**

**(4) T rating to start, but may go up in later chapters.**

**That's it for now. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!**

**THE CYNICS**

**Prologue**

It was quiet.

The air was still, the grounds were empty and a full moon hung, as it always seemed to do on this particular night, brightly in the sky. Filch, the mean caretaker, was patrolling the corridors of the castle predatorily with Mrs. Norris at his side, ready to catch any troublemakers who fancied pulling a big, scary prank. The groundskeeper, Hagrid, had retired early and was sound asleep in his hut, and in the Great Hall, indulging in a banquet so decadent that Hogwarts' elves only dared provide it once a year, was the entirety of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's student body and staff.

All, that was, except for one – a young girl with bushy hair and baggy robes, glaring at nowhere in particular with anger and misery in her eyes. It was October 31st, and she should have been at the Halloween Feast.

"Stupid, moronic, idiotic Ronald Weasley!" she hissed to herself, knees tucked underneath her. She was in the last cubicle of the second floor girls' lavatory, a dark place which might have brought fear to any other girl caught wandering Hogwarts alone on Halloween but which comforted Hermione Granger to no end.

Here, she was alone. Here, no one ever tried to bother her. Here, she wasn't a freak.

She wiped her damp eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "Dumb imbecile!" she muttered, continuing her verbal assault on the redheaded boy who, despite all his claims of House loyalty, had made it his life's goal to ruin hers. "Daft cabbage leaf! Annoying git!" The insults echoed off the bathroom walls, and hearing her voice twisted in dislike, she suddenly felt guilty. If her parents could hear her now, they would have been horrified. Their kind, shy little girl, cursing the name of one of her fellow classmates? They didn't _understand._ He _was_ an annoying git, and he deserved it.

Where did he get off thinking that he could treat her that way? She hadn't been looking for a fight at all during Charms class! She had simply wanted to help him. He was a Pureblood, had grown up hand spent is entire life in the Wizarding World, and couldn't cast a simple Freezing Charm. Yet, after all that, he thought he could trash-talk her, simply because she had the gall to be the first one to get the charm right, and was a Muggle-born to boot? Git!

She willed herself to calm down, as she already had tried to do five times that evening. Eyes shut, she began to breathe deeply in through her nose, and out through her mouth. She knew what her mother would say in this situation. _Whenever you're upset, take a step back and breathe. Try reciting runes – you love those._

_Fehu._

_Uruz._

_Thurisaz._

_Ansuz._

The tension in her body began to dissipate, and after a few minutes, she opened her eyes again. There was no point wasting her breath on Weasley. She didn't think she was being vain by thinking he was obviously jealous. _Jealousy makes people stupid,_ her father had always told her, whenever she had complained about the bullying in primary school. _You can't listen to anything they say._ Malfoy was jealous too, probably, and Lestrange, and everyone else who teased her.

_The best revenge is success. Be a better person, be a better student. There's no nasty retort for that._

Hermione wiped her eyes one last time, shakily stood up and left the cubicle. She wasn't going to go to the Halloween Feast now, of course – the last thing she needed was more attention on her for being late. Her bed seemed much more inviting, but first, she needed to clean up.

She reached out to turn the water on. The first tap she tried didn't work, and of course, it just _had_ to be the one with the snake engraved on its side. _Even the castle's snakes are against me_, she thought bitterly as she moved one sink over. The water was cool on her fingertips as the tap turned on and she looked into the mirror. Her eyes were blotchy and red, and her cheeks were wet with tears. Merlin, she looked horrible. If she could at least stop her eyes from looking so puffy and got rid of the redness in her cheeks, she'd be okay. She wasn't planning on running into anyone on the way to the dorm, but if by some curse of the Fates she happened to bump into one of her many tormentors – or anyone from her year, really, since no one seemed to like her - she didn't want to look like she had just come from a fresh pity party.

She didn't hear the faint hissing from behind her as she bent over the sink to wash her face, and when she looked up into the mirror again, all she saw was a pair of huge, red eyes.

She barely had time to scream before her body stiffened and everything turned black.


	2. Of Wandless Battles and Snakes

**Disclaimer:** One day, I would love to wake up as J.K. Rowling, but alas, today is not that day.

**THE CYNICS**

**Chapter One**

Of Wandless Battles and Snakes

_She was being chased, and there was hissing all around her._

"_Why are you running?" a deep, velvety voice called from behind her. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sounded vaguely familiar, as if she had met him before but couldn't quite place him. Terror shot through her spine, although she didn't know why._

_The castle was empty, but she didn't think about that. All that mattered was getting away from him, before she suffocated, before she drowned…_

_She turned down an unfamiliar corridor on the seventh floor. Flying past Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry, past the painting of the Three Fates spinning their green thread, past the statue of Salazar Slytherin, she ran as fast as her petite legs could carry her. Her heart felt like it was about to implode, and her breath came in quick, sharp pants which pierced her chest. All her muscles burned. She had been running for hours._

"_Please, just leave me alone!" she burst out, the urge to sob overwhelming. "Please! I… I don't want it! Not anymore!"_

"_You can't lie to me, pet," came the reply, and he sounded darkly amused. The hissing grew louder. "Don't forget, I have seen your heart's true desire. Stop running, and I will give you all."_

Don't listen to him!_ she snapped at herself, gritting her teeth as her body started to slow down of its own accord. It was so tempting…_

_She took a sharp left, and stopped short in shock. She was suddenly on the second floor, in the girl's lavatory. No! How? There was no way to leave, other than the way she had come. Horror began to build inside her, and she quickly spun, needing to go back, but she couldn't. He was there._

_She backed away, her eyes widening. "No… stay away…" A gasp left her mouth as she unexpectedly tripped, and fell to the ground, landing hard._

_He was coming closer now, and as he passed the torches on the walls, the flickering light illuminated him. She stared at his face in fear… there was something about him, despite his lack of features; something she recognised…_

"Granger!"

_She knew who he was, but in her terror, couldn't place his name. Who was he? How did she know him? Did it really matter, now that she was cornered and he was going to kill her?_

"_You wanted my knowledge, my power," he murmured, sounding disappointed. "And now that you have tasted it, you flee? How can you truly be a Gryffindor, when you shy away from the energy which burns inside you? How can you truly be a witch, when you shrink back from the energy which flows through your veins?"_

"**Granger!"**

"_I should have never come to you," she whispered. "You're mad."_

"_Only as mad as you are, pet." His eyes flashed predatorily. "Was it not you who had them under your wand? Was it not you who uttered the first curse? Was it not you who would have left them to d-"_

"GRANGER! WAKE UP!"

Her eyes flew open. For a split, panicky second, the pitch-black darkness of her surroundings made her believe she was still in that bathroom, and her heart squeezed in fear. Her wand, stashed under her pillow, was already in her hand before she became aware of the velvet canopy of her bed and the clock on her bedside table, which read 3:23 am. Lavender Brown was standing over her, her face twisted in irritation.

"Merlin, Granger," she snapped, sounding annoyed. Her brown hair was sticking up at angles, although she didn't seem to notice, and her nightgown was creased and rumpled. "_You're_ meant to be the smartest witch in our year? Are you so daft you couldn't have at least put up a Silencing Charm? _Some_ of us need to get our beauty sleep, you know." She gave a disdainful sniff.

"Clearly, not you," Parvati Patil's sleepy voice grumbled, causing Hermione to flush. She was glad that Lavender wasn't able to see it in the dark.

"Sorry," she said quietly, quickly stowing her wand back under her pillow. Her mind recognised, though, that Lavender had convenientlyforgotten to mention that this was only the second time she hadn't put up the charm, and she had been having the nightmares for months! It was completely unfair, but she wasn't up to arguing, especially in the middle of the night.

Lavender turned and climbed into her own bed. "Yes, well, don't forget it again!" she huffed, and then the dorm was quiet.

_Looks like I won't be getting anymore rest,_ Hermione sighed, slumping back into her bed. She never could fall back asleep after waking from a nightmare. She was honestly surprised that it had taken until now for her to be woken up – most times she woke on her own just after midnight, drenched in a cold sweat.

Usually, she never remembered what the nightmares were about, but this one was clear as day. She heard the callous voice, saw the darkness of the bathroom, felt the freezing stone beneath her. It had been so vivid, and extremely terrifying.

She frowned as certain details were called to mind. Hissing… green thread… Salazar Slytherin…

Hissing…

Green thread…

Salazar Slytherin.

A soft groan escaped through Hermione's parted lips; her Ravenclaw best friend had called it correctly. Her obsession _was_ getting out of hand, and it had even been spilling into her dreams.

"Always right, aren't you, Padma?" she murmured, although she wasn't too surprised. She had been fixated on her little project for over a year now, and in that time had even dropped a robe size because of it. Madam Pince had actually tried to ban her from the library for a week when she had found Hermione in there during dinner three nights in a row. She had thought that she had contained her obsession – her grades hadn't slipped, and she still spent as much time with Neville and Padma as she had before this whole debacle had even started – but this was just proof of the opposite.

Another groan escaped her. It didn't matter. This meant nothing. She wasn't going to stop.

Especially not when she was _so close._

She could feel it in her bones: any day now, she was going make a breakthrough. She had been watching the Slytherins closely for months, and the contents of her trunk proved it. Carefully stashed away and locked with a spell she was sure none of her Third Year (and rather vapid) dorm-mates would be able to get through were some of her most prized possessions at the moment: notebooks, filled with all sorts of careful observations, theories and lists. Lots and lots of lists.

She wasn't delusional. She knew she was obsessed, but she was yielding results, so did it really matter? It was all _there_ – all the pieces of the puzzle. She just needed to put it together.

Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes to get rid of the last remnants of drowsiness and slipped out of bed. There were still four hours before breakfast – plenty of time to get some work done. She glanced around her area of the dorm, looking for the pile of books usually kept at the foot of her bed. When her eyes landed on the book perched on the top of the pile, she snatched it up and headed for the bathroom.

First, she was going to wash her face and get into some comfier clothing. Then she'd be having a date with her new favourite book of late, _Hogwarts: A History__._

* * *

><p>"You look like dragon dung," a soft voice greeted her as she descended the stairs from her dorm, causing her to pause. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the tall, slightly round boy waiting for her.<p>

"Well, thanks Nev," she said wryly, injecting only the smallest amount of sarcasm into her voice. She continued down the stairs, and stuffed the Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions textbooks she was holding into her bookbag. "I'm sure any girl would be thrilled to be told that first thing in the morning. Good morning, by the way." Neville Longbottom returned the sentiment and chuckled, and she cracked a small grin. As she got closer to him, though, she couldn't help but add, "You _smell_ like dragon dung."

Immediately, his cheeks reddened, but he looked rather pleased. "I've been up since five in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout."

"Oh?" Hermione adjusted the heavy bookbag on her shoulder and quirked an eyebrow as they began to leave the Gryffindor Common Room. "Don't let Padma hear you say that, I know what she'd say." Adjusting her voice to mimic their other friend's more feminine, high-pitched tone, she said, "Oh, _really?_ Neville, I didn't know you were into the older, dirty type!"

In truth, Padma would probably have been even worse, maybe tacking on a quip about Sprout being a 'seedy character' or him trying to 'sow his oats' just to take the mickey. Hermione wasn't _quite_ that mean.

"I was just helping her with a new batch of rare plants that came in!" he exclaimed, reddening even further. Hermione laughed and patted his shoulder fondly.

"You know I'm only teasing, Nev."

"Yeah, well… you and Padma are two beans in a Puffapod," Neville grumbled good-naturedly, shaking his head. As they stepped onto one of the moving staircases, he glanced at her. "Guess what plant we were working with?"

"Bubotubers?" she guessed idly. "Chinese Chomping Cabbage? Angel's Trumpet?"

"Wrong on all counts," he grinned. "We got some Blue Rooster Lace."

Hermione had been expecting a story about Mimbulus Mimbletonia or Pungous Onion or some other mundane plant, and knowing that a full recount of the morning's activities was coming, had already been preparing to tune Neville out. She loved him, she really did, and she was glad that there was something he was really passionate about, but most plants were just so _boring._ That name, however, pricked her interest, and she turned an attentive, and slightly guilty, gaze on him, hoping that he had missed it. "Blue Rooster Lace?"

He had a knowing smile on his face which told her he _hadn't_ missed it, but Neville being Neville, he didn't mention it. "Yep! You know what it is, right?"

"Originates in Syria, extremely elusive and said to be used in ancient and permanent binding ceremonies?"

"That's the one," Neville nodded. "Although that last part is just a myth. Really, it's only good for Healing purposes – internal bleeding and stuff like that – but it takes so long to become truly potent that we're only keeping it for research and display purposes. Professor Sprout got two specimens from a wizard friend in Turkey, and-" he said this with pride clearly etched on his face, "-she reckons I'm the only one who can help her look after them! They're really beautiful."

"Awfully rare, too." Hermione looked thoughtful. She was no Herbologist, but she recognised an opportunity for academic research when she saw one. She'd read about Blue Rooster Lace before, and it was said to be very powerful. It was unlikely she'd ever get close to one outside of school. Maybe if she had a bit of spare time from her… _personal project,_ she'd put in an appearance. "Do you think Professor Sprout would let me have a look at it some time?"

"Oh yeah, of course," Neville said enthusiastically. "And Padma, too. She loves this kind of thing."

"Of course," Hermione agreed. Padma loved flowers as well as learning new things, so it'd be perfect for her. _It would probably get her off my back as well about spending time with her_, Hermione thought absently.

They discussed some of the more obscure facts they knew about the Blue Rooster Lace all the way to the Great Hall. As they entered, the delicious scent of freshly baked bread, as well as eggs, bacon and sausages hit her nostrils. She breathed in deeply. _You have to hand it to the English; we do make a good breakfast. _Her stomach gave a loud growl.

"Hermione! Neville!"

The shout came from behind them, and Hermione turned to see a pretty Indian girl approaching them, looking cheerful and more put-together than anyone else who had sluggishly dragged themselves to the Hall. Her long, dark hair was already brushed and pulled into a thick braid, and she was smiling _much_ too brightly for a Monday morning.

"Morning, Padma," Hermione and Neville greeted her in unison. Hermione tried not to allow too much enthusiasm in her voice (not that she was very enthusiastic at all, what with the little sleep she had gotten) – the Ravenclaw often tried to drag her into her infectious moods if she did. The bushy-haired brunette was obviously not a morning person.

Padma's smile didn't falter. "You look like dragon dung," Padma commented bluntly as she took in Hermione's appearance, causing her to scoff.

"Oh, not you too!"

"That's what I said!" Neville exclaimed. He turned to Hermione. "You never told me why."

"It's not important." She tried to say it as flippantly as possible, but they knew her well. Padma sent her a look that clearly said '_are you _really _going to try that on me?'_ while Neville just looked unimpressed. "Alright, alright, fine! Let's eat first, I'm absolutely starved."

They all trooped to their usual spot – the end of the Gryffindor table, closest to the Head Table and the professors. Hermione and Neville had chosen it in First Year, back when they had been the targets of some nasty bullying (which they still endured now, albeit in a watered-down fashion), and when Padma had become friends with them, she hadn't hesitated in ditching the Ravenclaw table, especially since she usually sat alone. That had caused her some disdainful looks from some of the Ravenclaws at first, but she got along well with the lot now, and these days, no one spared her more than a cursory glance. The Gryffindors even treated her like an honorary member – which was more than they could say for Hermione and Neville, their _actual_ house-mates. That was due to Parvati's popularity, more than anything, but of the three of them, Hermione had to admit that Padma was much more adept at breaching social territory than she or Neville were. It was one of the reasons that made her question why Padma had befriended them, of all people, but she didn't think on it too much. She was just grateful to have her.

"So, about your dreadful appearance," Padma said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and taking a sip. "What's happening?"

Just thinking about last night caused Hermione to yawn. "I had a dream, that's all."

"What kind of dream?" Padma pressed. "It wasn't about failing exams again, was it? Because I _told_ you – taking every single Third Year elective class is just asking for it."

"And I _still_ have no idea how you're doing it," Neville muttered under his breath, piling his plate high with food.

"I'm doing fine in my classes," Hermione said defensively. "No, it's not that. It's just… I- I think you may be right." Her tone was grudging as she looked anywhere but at her friend. Padma didn't say anything, and when she finally did look at her friend, the other girl had her eyebrows raised.

"I get that you see me as fabulous and all-knowing – and that's very true, I am - but you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What exactly am I right about?"

Hermione looked around, as if preparing to impart a dirty secret. Perhaps it wasn't a _dirty_ secret, but she still didn't want anyone else knowing about it. She didn't need them thinking she was more of a freak than they already did.

"My obsession… is getting a bit much," she finally said. "I had a nightmare about it."

"Aha!" Padma slammed a hand on the table a bit too enthusiastically, looking almost smug. "I told you, didn't I Neville?"

"What was your nightmare about, Hermione?" Neville asked, looking worried.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I was…running. This man was chasing me, and he was _so_ familiar but I just couldn't recognise him. He was saying horrible things and he was just so- so dangerous." She twisted uneasily as she recalled it. "He cornered me in the second floor bathroom. I felt like I was going to die, like he was going to kill me. And… and there was a lot of hissing in the background," she finished lamely, avoiding their gazes. She quickly grabbed some baked beans and toast, just so she had something to fidget with. Ever since last year's incident, she had become somewhat restless and agitated.

Padma's smugness had collapsed into contemplation, while Neville looked downright concerned.

"It's your 'project'," Padma said slowly. "You're still trying to come to terms with what happened last year, and combined with the stress of all your classes and keeping tabs on the Slytherins…" The Indian girl looked at her friend critically. "I'm surprised you haven't had a nervous breakdown, or something. I really think you should give this up, Hermione."

That caused Herione to sit up. "But don't you see?" she gaped at her friend. "This just means I need to find the Heir sooner, so I can finally solve the mystery and move on! I can't just leave it unsolved! I've dedicated nearly a year to this!"

"How do you know it was the Heir?" Padma whipped back quickly. "What are the chances that there even _is_ an Heir of Slytherin, let alone that he released some monster snake to specifically target _you?_ It's a myth, and all you're going on is a pair of red eyes!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Padma," Hermione retorted, "you know me better than that. I have a lot more than a 'pair of red eyes'. I've been cross-referencing all the mentions I can find of the Chamber of Secrets-"

"-which. Is. A. Myth," Padma stated firmly. They locked eyes for a second, trying to get the other to budge as they often did when the two intellectuals butted horns, before Padma softened. As the Hall began to fill up with more people, she lowered her voice. "Hermione, I'm worried for you. You don't give yourself any free time – you're only ever studying, doing homework or looking for an Heir that doesn't exist! Sometimes you spend your meals just watching the Slytherin table, not even eating! It's not healthy."

"Hermione," Neville piped up, before Hermione could reply, "why are you looking so hard to find pieces of evidence to support your theory? I mean-" he shifted uncomfortably when her gaze fell on him, "-the teachers said-"

"They said that I got Petrified by a book!" Hermione was incredulous; as if her friends believed that bogus story! "Why on _earth_ would I be reading _The Gorgons' Handbook_ in the second floor lavatory? Professor McGonagall told me it's a Restricted Section book – I haven't even been near that section of the library yet!"

"But they found it beside you," Neville reasoned. "Maybe you just…forgot, or something." Hermione could feel herself going red now, irritation flashing across her face. Now he was just insulting her. "I mean, the Chamber of Secrets hasn't been opened since the Founders' time! Their– the teacher's version of events sounds a lot more plausible than an Heir who can command a Basilisk!"

"It's not, Neville," Hermione said obstinately. "Look, I never asked you two to be involved, alright? I didn't even want to tell you about my dream, because I knew you wouldn't understand." She tried to ignore the looks that Padma and Neville exchanged. "Can we change the subject?" she bit out. Her voice sounded sharp, even to her ears.

Padma looked like she wanted to argue more – dear Merlin, Neville was right: they _were_ two beans in a Puffapod – but Neville immediately nodded. "Have you started your Care of Magical Creatures essay on merpeople yet, Padma?"

As Padma snorted ("Finished it the afternoon my class got it, Nev!"), Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on already. What an auspicious way to start the week: arguing with her two and only friends.

The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, although the tension between the two girls was palpable. Neville tried to engage both of them in conversation, but their stubbornness eventually caused him to give up and finish his meal quietly. She knew Padma only had her best interests at heart, but she really _didn't_ understand. As the two Gryffindors stood to go to their first class – DADA – and promised to see her at lunch, the other girl merely murmured her goodbye and continued to eat, not looking up.

"We'd better hurry," Hermione said to Neville as they left the Hall. "If you don't want Malfoy to take our duelling spot again, that is."

Neville shuddered, and even turned a little green. "Definitely not. I made a fool of myself last week with everyone looking, and all."

"You did not," Hermione said. "You were just a little nervous, that's all. If Malfoy tries to take our duelling spot again, though, I'll hex him into six ways into Sunday!"

They were the first ones there, much to Neville's relief. The DADA classroom was empty but the door was wide open, which Hermione took as an invitation to go take their favourite duelling warm up spot – a corner near the back with plenty of space and less chance of getting hit by a stray hex from another pair. She'd never admit it because it was the class she did the worst in (as minute as the difference was), but this subject was her favourite. It was just so interesting, and she loved the practical use of magic. Theory and research would always be her first love, but actually performing – actually feeling the magic tingling in her, running in her blood– it was a whole other feeling altogether. It made her feel alive, and no matter what any of the Slytherins said, she knew she was really and truly a witch… and many of them had felt the proof of that, she remembered with a satisfied grin. As they waited for the rest of the class to arrive, she began to run over useful spells in her head.

_Expelliarmus._

_Stupefy._

_Rictusempra._

_Levicorpus._

"Always in it to win it, eh Granger?" an amused voice cut through her recital, and immediately, her cheeks began to warm up considerably. Quickly, she and Neville looked up to see their favourite teacher striding through the door, his crisp, black robes billowing around him in a somewhat dramatic fashion as he entered.

"Professor Black!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Sir," Neville said respectfully.

The handsome man gave a bark of laughter as he strode to the front of the classroom. "Now, now, children," he said, grey eyes twinkling, "how many times have I told you to call me Sirius? Especially you, Neville – we're practically family, is what we are!" He placed his brief case on the teacher's desk and waved his wand at the blackboard, which began filling up with instructions of its own accord. He then turned to them, a grin on his face. "Eager for today's lesson, are we?"

"We wanted to get here before the Slytherins," Hermione said truthfully, "so they wouldn't take our spot. We didn't much fancy having to warm up in the middle of the room again, with everyone watching and all."

Professor Black nodded seriously as if he understood, which he didn't, of course. Everyone knew that the DADA Professor loved being the centre of attention. "Those blasted Slytherins, eh? Never can get rid of them!"

"You'd never see the end of it if Black heard you say that," Neville said, giving a small chuckle as he relaxed. There was something about Sirius Black that was just so…comfortable. "Ursa, I mean."

"Tish tosh," was the reply. Professor Black waved a hand dismissively. "She should've been in Gryffindor, and I've been appealing to the Headmaster to get her Re-Sorted for three years." He winked. "We all know Gryffindor is where it's at, but you didn't hear that from me, got that? I'm not meant to play favourites."

_Try telling that to Professor Snape,_ Hermione thought, and she knew Neville was thinking the same thing by the slightly sour look on his face, even as they laughed.

The rest of the class trickled into the room in small groups; or at least, the Gryffindors did. The lion's side of the room quickly filled up. Lavender and Parvati came in a few minutes after Hermione and Neville, and when they shot the brunette dirty looks, Neville looked at her questioningly. She just gave a minute shake of the head. Antagonism from them was nothing new.

The Slytherins arrived in one big pack, as they always seemed to do. Why, Hermione never knew, especially when they seemed to thrive on the principles of 'every man for himself, and don't expect me to catch you when you fall off of the broom I just cursed.' As seemed to be her habit these days, she couldn't stop her eyes from scanning the new arrivals. One of them was the Heir, she could feel it, and the most obvious candidate was Malfoy. He was a bigoted Pureblood git, after all, just like his House's Founder. His family was rich and influential, and had a history of being sorted into the snake house. He even had a personal vendetta against her!

The problem was, he was _too_ obvious.

Professor Black leaned against the blackboard nonchalantly, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on many of the Third Year girls. The chattering in the room was loud and excited, and he cleared his throat twice. "Alright, alright, settle down!"

It was impressive that he was able to silence a Slytherin-Gryffindor class in less than five minutes; even more so that he had their undivided attention, at that. He looked appraisingly around his class, leisurely taking a head count. When he got to the Slytherins, he paused.

"And where, may I ask, are Potter and Black?" he asked in a thick, Scottish accent, causing the class to laugh. He had regaled them – "incredibly irresponsibly," he boasted – with many anecdotes of his time at Hogwarts, and several such stories had featured McGonagall asking much the same thing about him and his best friend James Potter some twenty-odd years ago. When no one replied, he quirked an eyebrow and turned to the Slytherin girl sitting closest to him. Her pretty, vaguely Asian features twisted in exasperation, and despite the fact that Professor Black would never be caught dead wearing a similar expression, the resemblance between her and the professor was incredibly obvious.

"Harry's helping my idiotic brother finish his DADA essay."

"Oh, that's right," Professor Black said, tapping a finger on his chin. "You probably put him up to that, didn't you, Ursa? I forgot that you all had that six foot essay on vampires due." The class groaned in disappointment, and he snickered and waggled his fingers at them like a child. "Haha, tricked you! I didn't forget at all, and I expect all of those on my desk at the end of the period."

He gestured to the blackboard beside him. "Moving on, while we wait for the Disastrous Duo to arrive, please read the instructions on the board. It's Monday, which means it's the weekly duelling tournament. As you can see, I've upped the ante – winner gets 150 house points and ten galleons." Excited whispers filled the air – the next Hogsmeade weekend was coming up, and it would be nice to have some extra change. Ronald Weasley perked up at that, and Hermione huffed when his obnoxious red head obstructed her view of the board (and the Professor).

"Yes, yes, I know. Money makes the world go round – and it also makes for lovely House competitiveness, am I right? This will be _fun._ I've made a little adjustment to our usual rules, though. To prevent a House from trying to advance their bestduellers by_ purposefully losing to them_," his eyes darted quickly to the sighing Slytherins, although he looked more humorous than suspicious, "you're going to have to be partnered with someone from the opposite House." Groans met this announcement, and Hermione felt a hand on her arm. Neville looked slightly ill.

"There goes my chance of going down softly," Neville muttered to Hermione, who patted his shoulder. He wasn't the best dueller – he really only liked this class for the teacher - and had been allowing Hermione to beat him every week so he wouldn't have to face anyone else.

"You'll be fine, Nev," she said encouragingly. "Just try and disarm them, like I showed you. You don't have to go for an all-out fight."

He smiled weakly back at her. "Maybe if I get Goyle or Crabbe, I'll have a chance," he said hopefully.

"Not bloody likely, Lumpy Longbottom." Draco Malfoy had heard his last comment, and was now sneering at the two of them disdainfully. "I highly doubt you'd be able to disarm a shrub, let alone an actual wizard." Immediately, Neville's face flushed, and he dropped his gaze.

"You use that term dreadfully loosely," Hermione retorted scathingly, rushing to her friend's defence. "I don't think you or your two oafs would count as actual wizards in any sense of the word."

"Shut it, Mudblood," Malfoy snapped. "No one asked for your filthy opinion. Honestly, I haven't a clue how Longbottom manages to stay around you for so long – every time you open your gob, I want to puke."

Hermione glared at the snob. "In case you hadn't noticed, I-"

"Oi!" Professor Black was now trying to regain their attention, and as before, it worked near instantaneously. Hermione's mouth clicked shut, and she sent one last glower at Malfoy before facing the front. Again indulging in a slight dramatic flair, the professor magically produced a tall, pointed wizard's hat and announced that he would be drawing pairs from it.

_Please give Neville Goyle,_ Hermione prayed. _Or Crabbe. Either, as long as he gets one!_ He dreadfully needed a boost in confidence, and beating either Tweedledum or Tweedledee would accomplish that.

"Finnigan and Parkinson!" At the sound of their names, the two looked at each other and exchanged curt nods, standing up to move to a corner of the room to warm up.

"Davis and Dunbar!"

"Lestrange and Weasley!"

"I'm going to have fun with this, Blood Traitor," Aquila Lestrange hissed gleefully, tossing her dark, wild curls over her shoulder. Ronald paled.

"Patil and Greengrass!"

"Thomas and Nott-"

Suddenly, the door to the classroom burst open, and in tumbled two tall figures. Hermione, having been waiting for her name, looked towards the door in aggravation. It grew when she saw exactly who was interrupting.

_Here we go again,_ Hermione thought irately. _Can't those two ever be on time, just once? They have no respect for anyone's time but their own!_

Professor Black had placed the wizard's hat down, and was now watching them. "I was wondering if we were going to get an appearance from the Troublesome Two today," he said mildly, folding his arms over his chest.

The one with the green and silver tie had the decency to look sheepish, running a hand through his black, messy hair, although his companion – also with black hair, although his was perfectly kept with not a strand out of place – grinned arrogantly, his scarlet and gold tie loose around his neck.

"Sorry, dad," Aurigan Black said, not looking in the least bit bothered as he sauntered into the class and took a seat. "We were finishing our essays."

Harry Potter adjusted his glasses. "He just needed- er, last minute editing."

"I see," Professor Black hummed. "Considering you were carrying out a community service, Potter, I'll let you slide. Black, we will continue this discussion after class; 6 o'clock in my office, to be exact. Take your seats."

"Aw, come on!"

Hermione was pleased that Black was being put in his place. The annoying prat was arrogant to the core, and thought Gryffindor (and Hogwarts) were his kingdom. He had never been one of the Gryffindors to tease her, opting to ignore her completely, but his entire attitude just rubbed her the wrong way. He was a bit more bearable with Potter, though, as ironic as it seemed to put two troublemakers together to lessen the damage – the Slytherin had a calmer, less excited temperament which seemed to balance him out.

The professor ignored his son's grumbling and continued to draw pairs.

Hermione's heart went out as Neville was paired with Ursa Black, and he looked none too happy as he tried (and failed) to stare down the quiet girl. Lavender was paired with Zabini, Malfoy with Aurigan Black, and Dean with Nott, and as she scanned the rapidly dwindling pool of possible partners, she felt her competitiveness grow ten-fold. It looked like some twist of luck – or more likely, Professor Black's meddling – was going to pair her with one of the two best duellers in the class. _I'm going to have fun with this,_ she thought, feeling her lips tug into the smallest of grins. Hermione held her breath when she heard her name being called.

"Granger and Riddle."

And there it was. Somehow, she had known that Professor Black would pair her with either Riddle or Potter. After all, they were the top three in the class, with Hermione and Riddle battling it out for first and Potter trailing not far behind. It was a hard battle, she had to admit. She always had to stay at least two steps ahead of him, or she'd find herself five steps behind. Riddle met her eyes, and smiled at her. She gave a shy smile back.

They had had a rivalry of sorts since First Year. She had first met him on the Muggleborns' tour of Diagon Alley; McGonagall had gathered up all the incoming Muggleborn students and their parents to show them their first taste of the Wizarding World, and it had been apparent even then that Tom Riddle was different. The other students in the group had been too awed to do anything but stare, but Riddle had seemed more curious than awed, and he had asked intelligent questions about every single thing they saw. It had been nice to finally talk to someone who was bookish, and it helped that he was incredibly charismatic, too. By the end of the tour, he had not only charmed Hermione, but both her parents, McGonagall, half of the rest of the parents and most of the other kids.

When they had arrived at Hogwarts, she did not talk to him. Unsurprisingly, he had amassed a sizeable group of friends on the train alone, and she didn't pay much attention to him after that – it was becoming rather obvious that he was one of those popular types, and they never had any interest at all in talking to her. She didn't think of him again – aside from hearing his name a few times in the gossiping Gryffindor girls' conversations – until she realised that she was not competing for first in the grade with a Ravenclaw, but with him! He didn't even seem to study! He had time to balance his friends, a social life and academics without even trying, while she had to double her efforts just to make sure she stayed a step or two ahead of him.

He didn't _try_ to draw attention to himself, but it seemed to follow him wherever he went. He had never truly acknowledged any sort of rivalry, although she and everyone else in the grade knew it existed. He had been polite to her, as he was to everyone, and had continued on his way. She should have been bitter, because the situation was completely unfair. They were so very similar – Muggleborn, intelligent, studious, quiet – but simply because of his superior social skills (and his admittedly superior good looks), he was accepted willingly and gladly by the student population, while she was ostracised. She wasn't bitter though. He was just so… so…

Nice.

"Let's make this challenging for both of us, okay Riddle?" Hermione said, taking her stance in the part of the room they had been designated. She brandished her wand slightly, enjoying the feeling of her magic rushing up to meet the smooth wood. "No holding back!"

Riddle nodded slightly and smiled again, although she noticed that this time, it looked slightly forced. Odd. "Of course, Miss Granger."

There it was again, him being so bloody nice! The formal language would have seemed rather odd on another thirteen year old, but on him, it only added to his character. Slytherins usually called her by any number of endearing nicknames – Mudblood, know-it-all swot and bushy-haired beaver being among the favourites – but he never joined in, and they didn't even seemed to resent him for it. Really, he seemed more suitable for Hufflepuff than the den of snakes.

"Alright, guys! I want a clean duel," Professor Black said loudly. "No hexing appendages off, definitely no dying. I don't fancy having to fill in mounds of paperwork if one of you little imps gets too overzealous. Harmless little hexes and jinxes, or Expelliarmus. Also, no trying to hit other pairs – I've put in the spells for that!" He sent a look particularly at Lestrange, who only sneered. "Got it?"

A murmur of assent filled the air, and he nodded. "Right. Begin!"

Hermione eyed Riddle, and she noticed he was doing the same. His wand dangled loosely in his fingers, giving off the impression that he was slightly unfocused, and she narrowed her eyes. What a Slytherin tactic – feigning distraction to lull the opponent into a false sense of security. There was some snake in him after all, but there was no point using the technique on her and he knew it. She was aware of exactly how powerful he was.

"_Furnunculus!"_

And so it began.

He dodged her spell easily, and before she had time to even register that fact, had shot off his own. "_Petrificus Totalus!"_

His aim was good. Very good. Hermione grit her teeth as she dived to the floor, scraping her knees in the process. Ouch. "_Tarantallegra!"_

Another dodge. "_Rictusempra!"_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Immobulis!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Tarantallegra!"_

Barely two minutes into the duel, and Hermione was already sweating. Clenching her jaw, she realised he was observing her, and cursed Merlin's sweaty underpants to Hades and back. He wasn't even trying! He didn't look remotely tired, his wand was still loose in his fingers and he looked rather superior.

"Exhausted already, Miss Granger?" he asked. His concerned look was very convincing.

"Not at all," she lied, picking herself up. "On the contrary, I'm just getting started. _Levicorpus!"_

They continued like this for some time.

As the minutes ticked by, Riddle seemed to switch from returning spells to simply deflecting them. She could tell he wasn't using non-verbal spells because his mouth was whispering the incantations quietly – even the brilliant Riddle wasn't _that_ talented – but she couldn't hear what that incantation was. She was dying to know! How was he deflecting her so well, without even a physical barrier?

Her frustration grew even more as she realised that most of the rest of the class was already finished. The only other pairs left duelling were Malfoy and Black, and Potter and Roper.

Right. Time to give it her all.

She sent a volley of spells at him in rapid speed, as fast as her speech and wand arm could carry her. She could tell the exact moment he began to pay attention, because his body tensed and he looked almost surprised. Spell after spell flew from her wand, until finally, in irritation, she cried, "_Incendio!_"

She regretted it as soon as it escaped her mouth. That wasn't a harmless jinx or spell, and Merlin, she didn't want to _burn_ him. However, she needn't have worried, it seemed. To her complete and utter disbelief... Riddle was now surrounded in a light blue, transparent shield. _What in the world?_

"Very good, Riddle!" Professor Black called excitedly from his seat on the teacher's desk, where he was watching the various duels with amusement. He seemed particularly focused on theirs. "Looks like we've got a prodigy here, folks. That's a _bona fide_ Protego or Shield Charm - many grown adults can't even work that spell!"

There was a slightly smug smirk on Riddle's face now, and he raised an eyebrow at Hermione, as if to say _'well?' _She wanted to scream! Clearly, when it came to duelling, he was on a whole other level of skill. How was she ever meant to compete with th-

There was a long, loud hiss, and suddenly, she froze.

All motion in the room stopped. Her eyes immediately darted around, looking for the source of that dreadful noise. Hermione's mind rapidly caught up to what she was seeing, and she forced herself to breathe. Malfoy had used _Serpensortia_, and now, there was a very large, very hungry-looking snake slithering in the room. It seemed to be heading right towards her – or more precisely, towards her and Riddle.

_Hissing…_

_Green thread…_

_Salazar Slytherin…_

BANG.

She didn't know where the noise had come from, but suddenly, everyone in the room was screaming and Professor Black was trying to get rid of the snake, to no avail. It seemed Malfoy's variant – and Dark – _Serpensortia_ was insusceptible to the usual _Vipera Evanesca, _and now Professor Black was trying every Banishing and Vanishing spell he could think of, as was Riddle.

She was still frozen.

Merlin, she _hated_ snakes. Ever since last year, she had gone out of way to avoid anything that even depicted a snake – they all brought back pangs of fear that she hadn't quite gotten over yet. Her eyes fixed on the long, brown reptile; its tongue was darting out in a way that she most certainly did not like, and it made her skin crawl. _Merlin, angels and gods above, keep that thing away from me!_

There was a commotion in the middle of the room as people – especially those with severe ophidiophobia - stampeded over each other to get out of the classroom. As Pansy Parkinson burst out in tears, Professor Black turned from the reptile for an instant, shouting, "Stay calm everyone! For Merlin's sake, it's just a snake!"

In the moment that Professor Black was distracted, a sharp movement caught Hermione's attention, and she noticed Riddle's head bend towards the snake. Almost as if he was spitting, he seemed to be muttering some wandless spell, his tongue darted out unnervingly like the reptile's. It only lasted a split second, and then, to her astonishment, the snake manoeuvred around him and began moving towards the door. _Wait- had he just told the snake to-_

All those in its path stopped their shouting and scrambled away, watching with wide eyes as it left the room and disappeared around a corner. Professor Black cursed under his breath, and throwing a "Don't try anything until I get back!" over his shoulder, ran out after it.

Then there was silence. What had just happened?

Hermione felt like she had just seen Riddle grow another head. An idea was forming in her mind… one she didn't know if she wanted to look into or not. He was standing there, looking just as shocked as everyone else, but she wondered…

That was when she noticed his wand dangling in his hand – this time, he truly _did _look unfocused. Not even aware of what she was doing, "_Expelliarmus!_" suddenly escaped from her mouth. A wand flew into her hand, and her eyes widened when she realised she had just disarmed Tom Riddle, who was looking at her with incredulity. "Oh gods, I didn't meant to do that! I am so sorr-"

"Oh, that is rich, Mudblood Granger," Malfoy drawled, eyeing her as if he had never seen her before. "Are you so desperate to fool yourself into thinking you're better than Tom that you'll stoop to _cheating?_"

The entire class was looking at her now, and she was going very red, very quickly. What _had_ she been thinking? Shame filled her as most of the group shot her disdainful looks and began muttering amongst themselves. She didn't know what to say – for once, she was at a loss. Looking for support, she looked for her one friend in the class. Where was Neville?

"He was sent to the Hospital Wing," a voice said beside her, and she whipped around to find Riddle less than a metre away from her. "Ursa might have been a bit too fervent with her _Avis Oppugno._"

"Listen, Riddle, I'm so sorry. I have no idea what came over m-" she tried to apologise, but he held up a hand. She immediately fell silent.

"Wasn't very Gryffindor of you, was it?" he asked rhetorically. "My wand, please."

She wordlessly handed it over.

His eyes once again observed her. She had no idea what was going on behind those dark, calculating eyes, but she suddenly found she didn't like that stare. Especially when she was under it. "You won, Miss Granger. My sincerest congratulations."

"I didn't win-" she insisted, but he cut off her again.

"But you did." He raised a dark eyebrow at her, seeming to weigh the pros and cons of saying whatever he was planning to say next. After a pause, he said in a low voice, "In this world, you don't survive by observing rules and nobility." That caused her to frown – he was the epitome of nobility and rule-observing! This definitely didn't sound like the Tom Riddle she had been in classes with for the past three years; the practically Hufflepuff boy she had been competing against. "You do what you can to gain an advantage." He began to move past her, towards his group of loyal cronies, but stopped right beside her. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet." There was an odd note in his voice, one that she struggled to place-

-until she realised: he sounded _impressed._ As if he _approved_ of her spur of the moment, spontaneous cheating.

Riddle moved past her to join his group. More contemptuous looks were sent her way, but Hermione didn't notice. Her brain was working at a hundred and fifty miles per hour – he was _impressed_ with _her? _Genius, child prodigy Tom Riddle, impressed with annoying Mudblood Granger?

And then she remembered what had happened not five minutes ago, and her brain went into overdrive - what_ had she just witnessed?_ Had that truly been a wandless spell that Riddle had been spitting at the snake? Or had she just seen Tom Riddle _talk_ to the snake_?_ Had anyone else noticed it too?

Judging by the crowd around him, no doubt consoling him, they hadn't. Her eyes narrowed at the back of his dark hair, and her fingers itched in anticipation. _Oh yes, I saw you, Riddle,_ she thought.

Hermione Granger now had a new target to focus on, but first, she needed to go to the library.

**A/N: And thus conclude the first two parts of my first multi-chap here. Can I get a HELL YEAH? ****Big thanks to Wolfman217, who gave me the the basic premise and inspiration for this story, and is also Beta-ing for me!**

**Just warning all you potential readers now, I'm an erratic updater, because I'm an erratic writer. I've never - no matter how hard I've tried - been able to keep to a writing schedule, so expect this to come in random bursts. I'll try and update at least fortnightly, though, especially because this story is going to take some time. I'm envisioning this as some great masterpiece, but we'll see how that turns out. :P It'll span from Third Year to graduation and beyond, but I'm not entirely sure yet how I'm going to condense the years so that this doesn't turn into a 1,000,000 word extravaganza. **

**Reviewers and followers get my first newborn, as well as all the Nutella in my cupboard.**

**~ Philaria**


	3. Of Holiday Plans and Broken Promises

**Disclaimer:** Still haven't woken up to find myself in J.K.'s body.

**Thank you once again to my wonderful Beta Wolfman217 for pushing through all my spelling and grammar errors! **

**THE CYNICS**

**Chapter Two**

Of Holiday Plans and Broken Promises

An uneventful month later found Hermione's breakfast being interrupted by a flutter of wings.

"Post!" an older Gryffindor sitting five seats down from her exclaimed as the first owl flew in. Immediately, the few Gryffindors at the scarlet-and-gold table scrambled to shield their food, and Hermione quickly hid her bowl of steaming honey-topped porridge with practiced speed. Thursday was the day Annelie McKinnon, the little First Year with big blonde hair that could rival Hermione's, got her mail. Unfortunately, her owl had incontinence issues, and they never knew when it was going to let loose. Neville had been a previous victim, as had Ronald and the Weasley twins - at the same time - and the experiences had kept the rest of the House vigilant. As her House-mates moved to cover their breakfast, the owner of said owl blushed deeply, looking mortified.

Hermione scanned the incoming barrage of feathers. She was expecting her parents' spotted owl, Cordelia, and she wasn't disappointed. A familiar-sounding screech filled the air, and a second later, a rolled up newspaper dropped into her lap, along with an envelope. Cordelia swooped down to perch on the table, nipping Hermione's fingers affectionately.

"Hungry?" she asked, offering the owl some bread crusts. As Cordelia ate, Hermione took the envelope first and ripped it open. A letter, written on lined Muggle paper in her father's messy scribble, fell out.

_Hermione_

_We hope your school year is going well so far. Still top of the class, last I heard from that strict Deputy woman - McGonagar? McGleeson? Good work, honey. Mum and I are very proud of you (although if keeping on top of schoolwork is what's making you so skinny, please remember that we're not pressuring you and that we love you no matter what grades you're getting)._

_Here's the Thursday post, as per our darling daughter's request. As usual, those awful kidnappings are still making the front page - five years and they still haven't found the culprits. We're a bit worried because Tabitha Crowley's daughter from three blocks down almost got taken - she isn't an orphan, of course, which makes it strange considering they're all they've been taking - but you should be safe in that isolated magical castle of yours. Still, we're parents and we're made to worry. Don't do anything impulsive, Hermione, and stay safe._

_We'll keep you posted if you keep us posted - we're expecting a reply back, missy. You ignored us last week, you little bugger._

_Love, Mum and Dad_

Hermione smiled at the letter, although it turned a bit guilty at that last part. She hadn't been ignoring them - she just kept forgetting to send them a reply. Making a mental note to do so after classes that afternoon, she sent Cordelia to the Owlery and patiently looked up, waiting for one of the Daily Prophet barn owls to arrive.

While she only had her parents send the Muggle paper twice a week, she got the Prophet everyday aside from Mondays. Both were her ways of keeping in touch with the two worlds she had a foot in; she read the Muggle paper for leisure as a way of keeping her close to her non-magical roots, while the Prophet helped her in her neverending quest to learn all she could about the Wizarding World. Neville's mum thought the Prophet was trash, but Hermione found it rather informative.

Another owl's screech came from above her, announcing the arrival of the second newspaper. A barn owl landed in the place Cordelia had left not a minute ago, and Hermione offered it another crust. It gave her a hard nip, and Hermione hissed. "Ouch!" So it had no time for a quick food break; did it need to make her bleed? Muttering a curse under her breath, she quickly untied the paper and placed a knut in it's pouch before sending it off.

"Anything good in there?" a tired voice asked. Hermione looked up at the sound of a scraping bench to see Neville plopping into one of the two empty seats on either side of her, nodding at the rolled up bundles. She took one look at him and sighed; he looked like he had been steamrollered.

_Well,_ she thought, _he_ has _been up since four finishing that Potions essay. _Her mouth was already open, ready to berate him, when he shot her a look. "Don't even try, Hermione; I'd pick a sleep deficit over facing down the Greasy Bat anyday." He gave a shudder which didn't look feigned. Neville had been terrified of Severus Snape ever since First Year, when Seamus Finnigan had convinced him that the spleens kept in the dungeons' cupboards were those of past Firsties who had never made it through their first detention with the Potions professor.

Hermione shut her mouth and rolled her eyes. "His name is Professor Snape. Here." She tossed him the wizarding paper, which he caught with two hands.

"Thanks. Have you seen Padma, by the way? She's usually here before both of us."

"She's sick," Hermione informed him, a small frown crossing her face. "Lisa Turpin told me this morning. I wasn't allowed to visit her since she's in Ravenclaw Tower, but apparently she's okay. She's just in bed, resting with the flu."

"Jeez," Neville replied, "she has the _worst_ immune system. She gets sick every time the season changes!"

"It _has_ been rather chilly," Hermione pointed out dryly. "I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but I've always thought winter generally comes with cold weather and enough viruses to down every computer in the country."

"What's a virus?" Neville asked with raised eyebrows. "And a commuter?"

"A _computer_, Neville_._ It's a- you know what?" Now was not the best time to delve into science or technology with a Pureblood. "Nevermind. They're Muggle things."

Neville shrugged. "I guess it's just you and me this afternoon at the Greenhouses, then? Maybe afterwards, I can bring Padma a bloom of Blue Rooster Lace, to- to cheer her up, you know?" His cheeks suddenly pinked, and he looked confused. Hermione watched as his fingers began tapping on the table in the way they always did when he was unsure of himself.

"I think she'd like that," Hermione said sincerely, smothering a sudden smile. Oh, Neville was _too_ obvious… With a soft chuckle, one she was sure was too quiet for him to hear, she turned from him and began skimming through the Muggle paper.

There were a few pages on the latest of the "orphan-nappings", as the media had dubbed them, and an article on the first successful cloning of human embryos, which was apparently a huge breakthrough in the scientific world. Hermione read that one before putting the paper away, disappointed. She had been hoping for more news on the amazing practical technology that Muggles had been creating - the ways they were able to duplicate feats that happened on a daily basis in the Wizarding World, with not a drop of magic in them. The stuff Muggles came up with were pure genius, in her opinion; so much so that she had even taken technology classes the previous summer. She had spent that summer brainstorming all the ways magic could be combined with science, and it had been fascinating, to say the least, if not a bit too ambitious.

"The Prophet is really going to the dumps, isn't it?" Neville said, interrupting her thoughts. Hermione was amused to see that his soft, rounded features were twisted in such a look of disgust as he looked at the paper that he almost resembled Malfoy. "They dedicated a whole double page spread to the new Minister's '_hot and steamy'_ love life!"

"What did you expect from Rita Skeeter?" Hermione snorted. It was well-known that the woman was the biggest gossipmonger in the entire Wizarding World, ready to turn even the smallest rumour into a scandal. Hermione herself hadn't had an encounter with her, but the normally composed Harry Potter had kicked up a huge fuss about the stories she wrote about his family back in First Year. He hated the woman, and had made sure the entire school knew what kind of a person she really was.

"I don't understand why you still get this thing," Neville said with a frown. "My mum says she's turned it into a gossip rag! You might as well be reading Witch Weekly!"

"Be that as it may," Hermione shrugged, "it's still very useful for learning about the Wizarding World. Muggleborn, remember? There are all sorts of tidbits you people probably wouldn't think to mention." She grinned cheekily. "So, what _has_ Minister Black been up to?"

"Not much, considering she's married and has a kid here at Hogwa-"

"Miss Granger! Mister Longbottom!"

Hermione jumped at the sudden interruption, and turned to see her Head of House, a clipboard in her hand as she approached the pair.

"Miss Granger, Mister Longbottom," McGonagall repeated in her strict Scottish tone as she reached them, "I'm taking down the names of those students who wish to stay at the school over the Christmas holidays. The Headmaster and I have been tasked with supervising this coming break. Will either of you be joining Professor Dumbledore and I?"

Neville shook his head, but Hermione nodded. "My parents will be on a business trip to Australia."

"I see," Professor McGonagall said. "You will be joined in Gryffindor by the Weasley family, then. Their parents are also taking a trip."

_Great,_ _more time with the Redheaded Slug,_ Hermione thought morosely. The rest of the Weasleys were fine, but Ronald Weasley was a pest if ever she saw one. Neville sent her a sympathetic glance.

As the Transfiguration professor wrote her name down, Hermione discreetly glanced at the list in McGonagall's hands. It was a short one, to say the least - no one ever really stayed for Christmas. She scanned it until she came upon the Third Years, wondering if any of the other Gryffindors were staying.

_Hannah Abbott…_

_Lisa Turpin…_

_Terry Boot..._

_Ronald Weasley…._

_Tom Riddle..._

Abruptly, the breath left her chest, and she choked on air as she stared at the last name.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Professor McGonagall asked, peering at the Third Year over her glasses. Her firm expression softened just the slightest in concern as Hermione spluttered.

"Ye- Yes," she coughed. "I- I just- my breath just- just got _caught_-"

"Do try not to hurt yourself, Miss Granger," the Transfiguration professor said, not unkindly. "You're much too valuable a student to lose over something as ridiculous as choking."

As Hermione flushed, the woman said briskly, "Now, I believe that's all I have to ask you. You two had better be off to your first class, now." Her eyes drifted to Neville's Potions textbook on the table. "From what I hear, Professor Snape is not very accommodating to late students."

Although her mouth was stern, her eyes twinkled in amusement as she left.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Mudblood," a snooty voice said. From the sound of heeled shoes clicking, Hermione knew that her <em>esteemed<em> Potions partner had just shown up. Someone slipped daintily into the seat beside her, causing her to heave a sigh. _And so arrives Little Miss Prissy Pureblood._

"Pug-Faced Parkinson," she said saccharinely, not bothering to turn her head fully to look at the newcomer. She felt a rather perverse sense of satisfaction when she saw the girl flush red in anger out of the corner of her eye. "Ready for another wonderful lesson of Potions, in which I do all the work while you file your nails and try to take the credit?"

"Don't talk to me," Parkinson snapped, flipping long black hair over her shoulder. "I'm above associating with filth like _you!_"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You talked to me first." The other girl glared at her, unable to come up with a retort, and eventually settled for giving an indignant huff. Hermione chose to ignore her, and turned her full attention to the front as they waited for Professor Snape to come.

There was at least ten minutes until the start of class, but nearly everyone was already there. If the snarky Potions professor could be congratulated on one thing, it was that he had cowed almost every student in the school into a near clean tardiness record, at least for his own class. While Professor Black kept them in line with good humour and fun, Professor Snape did so with whip-smart wittiness and cutting remarks, and Hermione found she enjoyed his classes thoroughly, even if he did think she was an "insufferable know-it-all."

She looked around the classroom. The Gryffindors were more subdued than usual, chattering quietly amongst themselves. Professor Snape's point-deduction sprees were the stuff of legend. Her gaze flickered over the Slytherins, where Crabbe and Goyle were trying to beat each other down in an arm wrestle. She noted that both Malfoy and Riddle were absent; the seats beside Dean and Lavender were curiously empty. _Strange_, she thought. _Suspicio- _

Suddenly, she grew conscious of exactly what she was thinking, and slammed the idea out of her mind.

_One and a half months, _she berated herself. _Padma wanted you to leave it alone for _one and a half months. _Jesus Christ, can't you even do that?_

"_Misters Crabbe and Goyle,_ please refrain from behaving like overgrown baboons whilst confined within the bounds of my classroom," a sharp voice echoed around the dungeon's walls, and the two Slytherins froze. Severus Snape swept into the room, and Hermione swore the temperature dropped five degrees.

"We will be continuing on our Swelling Solutions today," he announced, without beating around the bush. He waved his wand, and the potions they had begun last lesson lined up on the teacher's desk."Use 'Finite Incantatem' to remove the stasis charms on your potions, and begin the second stage of brewing. Now."

Immediately, the entire class scrambled to get out of their seats.

"I'll get the ingredients," Hermione said, standing up, "and you can set up the cauldron." _If you can even manage that,_ she thought, feeling a prick of familiar anger as Parkinson inspected her nails.

"I don't take orders from people below me," was the Slytherin's only reply.

_Breathe in, breathe out._ The brunette Gryffindor blew air through her nose, trying to calm down. _You can't become a Potions or Charms or Ancient Runes Mistress if you murder her and get expelled before even taking your O. !_

"Whatever," she muttered, and she moved off to collect their potion and supplies.

The class went by achingly slowly. Yes, Hermione enjoyed it, but only when they were actually learning Potions theory from the professor himself. Completely practical lessons didn't hold the same appeal to her, and she boredly waved her wand, lowering the temperature of the fire under her cauldron.

Professor Snape walked around, idly inspecting their work. Hermione had realised this year that one of the main reasons he despised First and Second Years - and was so nasty to them - was because they were incapable of appreciating the subject. They were still too enamoured with the idea of the Wizarding World's wonders - even the Purebloods - that the "subtle art of potion-making", as Snape called it, flew right over their heads. Once they hit Third Year, some (if not most) began to take the subject more seriously, and the professor's attitude became less abrasive and more, for lack of a better word, _teacher-y._ He could still be an arse (Hermione could freely admit that, despite her admiration for him) but at least he was helpful.

He offered some snide, but constructive, criticism for each pair he stopped at. Hermione's potion received a short nod of approval, while Lavender's was quickly vanished as it became clear it was becoming much too unstable to continue working on. When he stopped at the workstation where Potter was working with Neville, he peered into their cauldron with narrowed eyes.

"What class do you think you're in, Potter? Cooking class?" he sneered. "Your potion looks more like a soup than a solution. It is far too runny, and would be ineffective at best. Dispose of it immediately." He towered over the boy menacingly with his arms crossed.

"I made a minor adjustment to the recipe, sir," Potter replied calmly.

"Without consulting myself?" Snape asked in a scathing tone.

Potter looked him in the eye. "The potion will remain runny for exactly forty-three seconds more," he explained, "after which time I'll add armadillo bile. This will allow it to thicken, and cause the puffer-fish eyes, and therefore the potion, to become more potent, whilst also counteracting their explosive nature." As if to prove his point, he picked up the vial of bile at his side and poured it into his cauldron. Judging from the small self-satisfied grin he gave a second later, he had gotten the expected results.

There was a silence as Professor Snape regarded the black-haired boy so intently that Neville shrank back, not wanting to be under his scrutiny. The rest of the class held their breath in anticipation.

"Well done," he finally said in a cool tone. "It seems you are not so hopeless in this subject as you would have me believe, Potter."

"I learned from the best," Potter said without looking up from his cauldron, his voice neutral.

Another short silence. "Indeed." While he didn't smile, one corner of his mouth lifted in acknowledgement, and he moved on. Neville visibly deflated in relief while Potter finally allowed a smirk to grace his face, looking immensely pleased with himself.

At the workstation beside Hermione's, Ronald grumbled to himself. "Longbottom's a lucky bastard," he whined to his partner Theodore Nott. "_I _wanted Potter for a partner, but no! He chose _him_ instead." The tall, reserved Slytherin didn't bother replying, but Parkinson overhead and scoffed.

"Longbottom needs all the help he can get," she commented nastily, watching as Hermione turned from the small classroom drama to stir the solution exactly five times widdershins, as the textbook dictated. "If he wasn't with Professor Snape's step-son, he'd be blowing things up left, right and centre! He's such an utter waste of space."

"Shut _up_, Parkinson!" Hermione snapped furiously. With a wave of her wand, the finished potion sealed itself into a bottle and flew to Snape's desk. She turned an icy glare onto the black-haired Slytherin.

"Did I touch a nerve, Granger?" Parkinson asked smugly. "Have a crush, do you? Hoping to become the next wife of the _Ancient _and _Noble_ House of Longbottom? You might be dreaming a bit too big; even _that_ House is above you."

"Oh, grow up and think of some new insults," Hermione growled. _Merlin,_ if there was anyone she hated more than Malfoy himself, it was the girl in front of her. Without thinking, her fingers inched towards her wand. "You could at least try for some originality. Too bad your precious pure blood doesn't come with a brain."

Like the Neanderthal he was, Ronald began whispering, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Parkinson's eyes became slits.

"You ought to be more polite, Mudblood," she hissed. "My _'precious pure blood'_ comes with a lot of privileges, like _connections_. All I have to do is put in the word, and you'll find yourself homeless and jobless as soon as you step foot out of this castle after graduation."

"Are you threatening me?" Hermione gritted her teeth. _You can't curse her, you can't curse her, you can't curse her..._

"Make of it what you will," Pansy said, looking superior. "I just thought you should know; I don't take well to being shown disrespect."

Hermione fumed as Parkinson turned away from her, suddenly bored. She began whispering to Nott, and the Gryffindor turned her face to hide the hot tears which were threatening to spill over.

It was true. She knew it, and the Purebloods knew it, and the whole damn Wizarding World knew it. As long as she stayed weak and powerless, she and everyone like her would always remain helpless under the thumbs of the Pureblooded elite.

* * *

><p>"<em>Finally<em> a moment to myself," Hermione moaned, with her eyes closed and her back against a bookshelf.

She was so _tired_. After classes (in which she thankfully did not have to endure anymore Slytherins), she had gone to the Owlery and sent a letter to her parents, then gone to the greenhouses to help Neville with his exotic plants. That had taken a good two hours, and afterwards, she had visited Padma in Ravenclaw, after convincing Lisa Turpin to let her in. Now, she just wanted to be _alone_, and she had never been more grateful for the lack of studiousness in the general Hogwarts population. It meant they stayed far, far away from the library, especially since it was a little after dinner, which suited her just fine.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, listening to the rain. Normally she hated rain - she found it distracting and noisy - but now, she could feel herself becoming drowsy. How had she never realised that it was so relaxing?

She stayed like that for what seemed like hours, until she realised that it was becoming very dark. A quick _Tempus_ revealed that it was nearing eight - curfew for the younger students - and so she quietly picked herself up and stumbled through the stacks.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, realising that there was barely any light around. Madam Pince must have thought no one was around, and had started closing early.

She had never realised how eerie the library could be at night. Of course, she had fallen asleep there many times reading or finishing long assignments, but she had never had to actually walk around while it was silent and empty.

The tall bookshelves, rather than comforting her with the abundant knowledge they contained, made her feel claustrophobic, as if they were walls that were trying to close her in. Ever since the incident in the bathroom, she hadn't taken well to being in dark, empty places alone. She turned into one aisle of books, and not knowing where she was going, had to pause and look around. She was in Wizarding History, which meant she was somewhat near the entrance. Once more, she turned, and-

"Miss Granger!"

She almost gave a cry in fright when she spun around and bumped into a tall, hard body - finding herself face to face with the person she had tried to avoid thinking about and having contact with for the past month.

"Merlin, Riddle!" Hermione snapped, quickly recovering. "Don't sneak up on me like that ever again, unless you want your arse pinned to a wall!"

He was standing at one of the bookshelves, one hand in the middle of retrieving a book from the second shelf from the top. She realised she must have missed him as she ran through the aisles. His wand was stuck between two books, illuminating him with a _Lumos_ in the same way her wand was illuminating her, and he looked even paler than he usually did in it's soft glow. As the memory of him hissing to the snake was brought unbidden to the forefront of her mind, she shuddered and hurriedly pushed it away.

"Sorry," he said quietly, his head tilted the slightest bit in question as he looked at her. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione lowered her wand and raised her eyebrows. "Well, I was under the impression that the library was free for everyone."

A small flash of irritation crept into his eyes, but he only gave her an exasperated, friendly look. "You know what I mean. You don't usually find people in the library this close to curfew."

"I just-" _needed a place to calm down_, "was browsing. What about you?"

He shrugged. "Same as you."

Her eyes darted to the books at his side, and despite her apprehension about him, she couldn't help but feel incredulous at his answer. The books he was looking at looked as dreary as Professor Binns. "Really? You find Wizarding Genealogy an interesting enough topic for light reading?"

"It's quite fascinating," he said in a clipped tone that made her flush. Maybe it was a _bit_ hypocritical of her to question him - it wasn't like anyone else found Wizarding-Goblin Wars or Arithmancy as interesting as she did.

"What could be so great about tracing pig-headed Purebloods to their perfectly pure roots?" she huffed defensively.

"A lot, it would seem," he said in a low, mysterious tone that he didn't seem to realise practically screamed '_I know a secret!'_

"Oh?"

"You probably wouldn't be interested, though," he said, sounding slightly teasing. "After all, what's so great about tracing pig-headed Purebloods to their perfectly pure roo-"

"Okay, okay," Hermione interrupted him, hands on her hips. Her curiosity was peaked now. What had he found out? "I get the point. Go on and tell me now; I'm dying of curiosity, and all that."

A sly smile adorned his face, although it was directed more at the thought of what he was going to say next than at her. "Did you know that the Lestrange family branched off from the Hecre line? That particular line is descended from Queen Joan of Navarre-" _Great,_ Hermione thought sarcastically, _they're pure _and _royal_, "-and her affair with a Muggle courtier, during the time of her imprisonment."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "No! Seriously?" Merlin… a vicious sense of vindication rushed through her - if only Aquila and her horrid older brother Cepheus knew! Always spouting Pureblood propaganda, when they weren't so pure themselves! Unbeknownst to her, her mouth had twisted into a grin at the thought.

Riddle sent her a knowing look, before turning and walking away. Hermione immediately snapped out of her reverie.

"Wha- hey Riddle! Wait!"

He didn't slow down, and she had to hurry to match her petite strides to his long ones. When she finally caught up, slightly out of breath, she asked,"Why did you tell me that? Why would you want me to know something like that about your friends?"

He looked down at her from the corner of his eye, and gave a minute shrug. Hermione wondered how he could make the most casual of movements look so elegant. "Just a little secret, Muggleborn to Muggleborn." For some unfathomable reason, he seemed to caress the word 'secret', causing her to shiver unconsciously.

"_Right..._" Hermione's voice trailed off as she filed that interesting fact away. He hadn't really answered her question, but it was still useful information, and she was sure she'd be able to use it sometime in the near future.

They walked in silence for a few moments. It wasn't uncomfortable, but there was something about Riddle that made her feel like she should be asking him questions constantly, trying to get things out of him. She broke the silence. "So...you weren't in Potions this morning."

"I didn't feel too well."

"It's been going around." She peered at him. "You and Malfoy both, though? What were you doing, feeding each other chicken soup?"

"It's contagious," was his reply, and it sounded like he was suddenly annoyed at her curiosity. He rubbed the inside of his left wrist absently, drawing Hermione's eyes to it, and when the robe sleeve fell away, they widened. There was a huge scar, looking as if it had been newly healed and was meant to be fading, judging by the redness. It was round, with at least a five centimetre diameter - as if he had been punctured by something.

_Remember what Padma said, remember what Padma said, remember what Padma said… oh, stop trying to fool yourself. You can't _not _investigate that._ "You're staying over the winter hols, right?" she blurted out, tearing her eyes - but not her mind - away from his wrist. She was furiously conjuring up ideas of what he could have possibly been doing to get a gouge like _that_.

"How did you know that?" He sounded slightly suspicious. "And why do you want to know?"

"I saw your name on the list," she answered flippantly, ignoring his second question. "I'm staying too. My parents will be overseas and I have nowhere better to go."

His eyes darkened for some inexplicable reason at that. "Yes, I am staying."

Suddenly, there was light everywhere and Hermione realised they were outside of the library. She looked around, bewildered that it was so quiet. _Why-_ she abruptly cut off, smacking herself internally. _Right. Curfew._ If Filch caught her out after eight, she could say goodbye to her perfect record and hello to cleaning the girls' bathroom by hand. "Merlin! What time is it?"

"7:55," Riddle responded lazily, and she cursed. While there were shortcuts to get to the dungeons from here, she couldn't say the same for Gryffindor Tower.

"Right, I've got to go." She looked at him, suddenly hesitant. Her hands began to twitch in nervousness, so she shoved them into her pocket. "Maybe...maybe we could meet in the library during the hols, then? You can tell me more about how fascinating Wizarding Genealogy is, or something."

There was a pause. "As you wish, Miss Granger." He inclined his head towards her, his mouth playing into a small smirk.

"Okay. Um...bye." Despite the blush on her face due to her clumsy speech - and in front of Mr. I-Speak-Proper, no less - she couldn't help but feel victorious. _And you're in! Winter Snake Hunt is on!_ If she was going to find anymore evidence to connect Riddle to the Heir, she was going to find it in the two weeks of Christmas, and she couldn't help feeling accomplished at that.

She missed Riddle's identical triumphant expression as he watched her turn and flee for the Gryffindor Common Room.

**A/N: Dun, dun, dunnnn! I wonder what Tommy boy is up to? ;)**

**Chapter Two is out and let me just say I am glad that the ball is going to start rolling very soon! This chapter was a bit hard to get out, and shorter than I would have liked, but I'm very happy with the finished product. I've finally got an idea as to how I'm going to fit all their Hogwarts years in this fic, and I've decided that this year's (Third Year's) arc will be shorter than the others. Next year's when the action really starts, so I want to get to that as soon as possible and get all the plot set up out of the way. **

**Thank you so, _so_ much for the response I've gotten so far! Over 500 views, 12 favourites and 21 follows, not to mention the reviews... all for my first upload! I wasn't expecting much since Tomione isn't as popular as some of the other ships around (and this is my first multi-chap to boot) so basically, I'm stoked! I really do appreciate and am grateful for any and all feedback you give me.**

**Alright, I'm going to wrap it up before this becomes a speech. Expect another update in a week or so since my school holidays have begun!**

**~ Philaria**


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